


Seduction 101: A Questionable Guide to Beguiling Oblivious Idiots

by foryourlungs_only



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Auror Ron Weasley, Aurors, Blaise is an Arsehole, Blow Jobs, Draco Being Insufferably Slytherin, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Masturbation, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry Potter, Porn with Feelings, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-20 17:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foryourlungs_only/pseuds/foryourlungs_only
Summary: Draco has been trying to get Harry to make the first move, but he's being too much of a Slytherin about it, and Harry, the oblivious twat, just doesn't get it.Needless to say, everything nearly blows up in their faces. Literally. Blame Harry's accidental magic. But really, it's all Blaise's fault.





	Seduction 101: A Questionable Guide to Beguiling Oblivious Idiots

It's been ten years.

Ten bloody years since the War ended.

Eight years since they had stopped sneering at and hexing each other six ways from Sunday. One particularly bad row during Auror Training had left Harry with singed eyebrows and Malfoy completely bald. And _that_ hadn't been the worst of it.

Seven years since they'd gone from Ex-Nemeses-turned-Awkwardly-Polite-Acquaintances to Auror Partners. And they'd made one hell of a team. They still are. The best duo the DMLE has seen in possibly centuries. Malfoy's cunning mind coupled with his cool, cautious disposition is the perfect foil to Harry's pure, unbridled power, outright recklessness, and abysmal lack of impulse-control. He keeps Harry grounded — and thankfully, still very much alive.

Five years since they'd started finishing each other's sentences, sharing inside jokes, knowing how the other took his tea and making it to absolute perfection _(extra strong and scalding hot with just a splash of cream, for His Royal Gitness)_ , kipping on each other's couches after long, exhausting missions, meeting up with one another's friends for pints at the Leaky _(Pansy is terrifying, but fucking hilarious. She's like a more vicious, unforgiving version of Ginny; Blaise, the poncy bastard, is just as bad as Seamus, only posher and better looking; Theo is quite literally the male version of Hermione)_ , which quickly developed into showing up together to their friends' birthdays and weddings, which then further escalated to becoming godfathers to their friends' sprogs.

Three years since they'd finally started calling one another Harry and Draco, instead of Potter and Malfoy.

And Harry had realised that Malfoy — _Draco_ — will no doubt be the end of him.

_Why?_

Because Harry had also realised that he's been _in love_ with his Auror-Partner-turned-Best-Mate for the better part of the last five years.

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

Every little thing Draco does is pure torture to Harry. Even now, as they're sitting in their office, finishing up their respective reports on that last Illegal Potions Smuggling case they'd recently closed, Harry is dying a slow, painful, inevitable death.

Draco, the beautiful bastard, is eating a jumbo-sized Push Pop. What was originally an innocuous muggle candy had become _not-so-innocent_ after George Weasley had added his own brand of madness to the treat. It's now _vastly_ larger than it's muggle counterpart; the flavour, colour, and bloody _shape_ changing, depending on the mood and intent of the wizard or witch eating it.

Yeah... It's definitely become one of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' bestsellers — immensely popular with the adults.

Harry grits his teeth, willing himself not to look up at Draco, who's sitting right across from him. But when did Harry ever have any semblance of self control, especially when it concerns a certain blond git?

So, despite himself, Harry glances at his partner and immediately regrets it.

Apparently, when it comes to Draco Malfoy and an _enormous_ , cylindrical lolly, _'eating'_ doesn't even begin to describe it, because from Harry's dazed perspective, he's never seen anything quite so... _pornographic_.

The girthy sweet is slick with Draco's spit as the maddening prat slides the bloody thing in... then out of his mouth — slowly, provocatively. Harry watches, transfixed, as Draco pulls the entire length of it out of his mouth and licks the tip; his sinuous tongue teasing the end, swirling 'round and 'round and—

Harry wants to look away, but Draco is hollowing out his cheeks now, plump lips stretched obscenely wide. Then, _the Bane of Harry's Existence_ proceeds to swallow the ridiculously thick candy and Merlin's saggy left tit, he doesn't even bat an eyelid.

Draco Malfoy has no gag reflex, Harry discovers.

Then, to Harry's complete and utter mortification, Draco hums, a low, breathy vibration in his throat; his eyes fluttering shut.

And _holy shit on a broomstick_ , Harry feels _that_ right in his cock. All the blood leaves his brain in a rush and pools like scorching lava in his groin. He's dizzy and lightheaded; his vision blurring around the edges. He's acutely aware of his own harsh breathing. It sounds painfully loud in the silence of their shared office. Or may it's just him thinking that.

His traitorous prick is fully hard now, straining against the tight confines of his jeans; all because Draco sodding Malfoy eats a lolly like he's fellating it.

_What is the world coming to?_

Swallowing thickly, Harry finally manages to tear his gaze away from Draco. He shifts in his chair, grimacing when his oversensitive cock, hard enough to use as a Beater's bat, chafes against his zipper.

He throws Draco another furtive glance. The blond appears entirely oblivious to Harry's predicament. He's still busily writing up his report and is now languidly licking long, wide stripes up the length of the thrice-damned sweet.

With an aborted groan, Harry drops his head onto his desk with a resounding thud. Stars explode behind his eyelids, mercifully distracting him for a brief moment.

So, Harry does it again. _And again_. He's dimly hoping he'd just give himself a concussion, so he can be excused from work for a few days or if he's lucky, for the rest of his cursed life.

"I know how much you abhor writing your reports, Harry, but is there really a need to be so dramatic?"

Draco's haughty drawl hasn't changed much in the intervening years. The only difference is that he no longer sounds as snide as he used to, and there's just a touch of fond exasperation in his dulcet tones.

Harry reluctantly looks up and — he _really_ shouldn’t have done that...

Draco is staring at him, sparkling silver-grey eyes dancing with amusement. He's propped his chin on one hand, the other is still holding the blasted candy aloft. Their eyes lock, Draco arches an elegant eyebrow as he wraps his spit-shiny, swollen lips around the tip of the sweet and—

 _Sucks_. Hard.

Harry's cock jolts in eager response even as his brain disconnects. He could only stare at Draco blankly; his jaw practically falling onto his desk.

"Harry?"

Barely retraining a full-body shudder, he clears his throat, shifting his gaze from Draco's sinful mouth, and he misses the way Draco's irises darken as he takes in the telltale flush in Harry's cheeks.

"M'fine." Harry croaks, staring blindly at his half-finished report. There's no way in hell he's finishing this tonight. Robards can kiss his arse. He just wants to get the fuck out of their suffocating office before he does something he'll completely regret — such as ravishing one of his best mates.

Better he expire from sexual frustration than end up in Azkaban for forcibly jumping Draco Malfoy's bones.

Harry could already see it — his delightfully tragic epitaph.

_Here lies Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived Twice Only To Die Of Unresolved Sexual Tension._

TL;DR Harry Potter died of blue balls. Full stop.

_Yes, Seamus, ta ever so._

Just as Harry is wracking his brain for a good enough excuse to escape from the torture chamber that is their shared office, Ron unceremoniously barges in. 

"Oi, you wankers! Day's over! Time's a-wastin'! The Leaky's a-waitin'!"

Relief beyond measure floods Harry. He jumps to his feet, nearly knocking down his chair in his haste. The sudden flurry of activity startles Draco, who turns to glare at Ron in obvious irritation; an almost-pout on his glistening lips, retribution clear in his pale eyes.

"Great! Brilliant! I'll see you both there, yeah? I need the loo—" Harry says in a breathless rush, barreling past a baffled Ron.

Harry sprints out of their office as though his bloody hair is on fire. He's mentally thanking Merlin, Morgana, and the Four Great Founders of Hogwarts that his Auror robes manages to hide his embarrassing predicament rather well. He doesn't think he'd be able to live it down if his mates got an eyeful of his impressively tented trousers. He'd be the butt of every joke from now until eternity, if that were the case. His friends are awful like that.

 

 

 

**~o~**

 

 

 

"Bloody hell," Ron peers back out into the hallway, staring after Harry as the latter bolts down the corridor and disappears around the corner. He shifts his attention towards Draco. "You'd think Voldemort came back from the dead or something."

Draco huffs, rolling his eyes, idly twirling the unnecessarily large lollipop.

It's been a decade since the War and everyone has slowly, but surely reached a point in their lives where it's finally okay to joke about certain things. It's taken them awhile, but they've managed to move on. The wounds have healed. The jagged edges of their grief and pain have dulled enough that the broken pieces finally fit together once more. It's not perfect. The scars would always be there, but they're stronger for it.

"What was that all about, Malfoy?" Ron demands, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did you do this time?"

"Why are you so certain it's something I did, hm?" Draco hums, making an exaggerated show of lifting his long, slender legs and propping them onto his desk.

Ron only narrows his eyes at him — a familiar look that plainly states, _'Are you seriously asking me that?'_

They stare at one another for a beat, until finally Draco clicks his tongue, "Fine."

Waving the candy, Draco arches an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk slowly curling at the edges of his lips. Bringing the sweet close to his face, his tongue darts out, suggestively lapping along the entire length of it, never breaking eye contact with Ron. When he gets to the tip, he wraps his mouth around it and swallows the whole thing, throat working to accommodate the astonishing size. When he slowly pulls the lolly from between his glistening lips, Draco is smugly delighted to see that the shape has taken on the very obvious outline of an indecently erect cock. He has to wonder if Molly Weasley even has the faintest idea of what one of her ginger offspring gets up to in that demented shop of his.

Blood suffuses Ron's face as he gapes at Draco in horror. "Y-you did not—" He sputters. He's so atrociously red that his hair easily pales in comparison.

Draco's smirk just deepens as he gives the dick-shaped candy another lascivious suck before he pulls it out of his mouth with a wet pop. He wordlessly shrugs, turning around to bin the half-eaten treat.

Ron drops his head into his hands and proceeds to vigorously rub his face. He glances up at Draco, releasing a long-suffering sigh, "Why don't you just talk to him?"

Draco shoots him a disdainful look that quite literally screams, _'Are you stupid?'_

It's funny how they've gotten so close that they can easily communicate with just a mere glance. Ten years ago, Draco would've never thought that was even remotely possible, and yet here they are now.

"Draco, I'm serious here." Ron whinges, turning pleading, blue eyes on him. "Just talk to Harry. I don't think I — _WE_ — can handle watching the both of you dance around each other any longer. It's bloody exhausting, mate." Ron sighs, scratching at his stubble. He then casts Draco a sidelong glance, "Just so you know, everyone’s betting on whether or not you'd succeed in this whole seduction business you're so hellbent on."

"I know." Draco says, a sharp grin splitting his face. "I placed quite a bit of Galleons on it myself. I'm quite confident in my abilities. Harry will cave soon enough. It's only a matter of time." He then frowns, leveling a venomous glare at Ron. "As a matter of fact, I had him right where I wanted him, but you just had to ruin it by barging in like a panicked herd of wild erumpents."

"Merlin help us all." Ron groans, casting his eyes heavenward.

Draco sniffs, smoothly rising from his chair. He stalks towards the door, lightly bumping Ron's shoulder with his own as he walks past.

"I'm a Slytherin, Weasley. We don't go around declaring our _heart's desires_ to very object of our affections. That's not how we do things."

"Hogwarts was ten bloody years ago, you wanker!" Ron retorts in exasperation, trailing after him. "Why don't you just save us all the misery and talk to Harry?"

"I'm not the Gryffindor here." Draco shoots back, sauntering towards the lifts.

Ron makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat, fingers twitching as though he's itching to grab for his wand and hex the living daylights out of a certain infuriating blond. He sucks in a long, steadying breath and tries again, "You know how he feels about you, Draco. Bloody hell, everyone knows it—!"

"Do I? Do you?" Draco snaps, whirling on Ron. "I know he wants to get into my pants. That much I can tell. Harry's about as subtle as a hex to the face or — _oh, I don't know_  — a certain Flying Ford Anglia smashing into the Whomping Willow!"

Ron grimaces at the mortifying analogy, jabbing a finger to summon the lift. He turns to stare at Draco as the blond falls into silence.

Draco releases a breath, lowering his head, shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm not going to ruin our friendship by assuming the wrong thing, Ron. That's too high a price to pay and I'm not willing to risk it." He slants the lanky ginger a wry smile. "If all Harry wants from me is a casual fuck with no strings attached, then it needs to come from him. At least I'll know where I stand. I can't—" Draco inhales sharply, shaking his head.

Ron sighs, once again rubbing his face. It's true that although Harry has been painfully obvious about his attraction to Draco, he hasn't exactly said anything about how he truly feels for the blond. The only reason Ron knows about Draco's feelings for Harry is because _Pansy Weasley, née Parkinson_ , his lovely wife and Draco's best friend, had told him. But Ron knows his best mate, Harry has always been transparent. He didn't need to say anything about how he feels for Draco for Ron, or the rest of their friends, to know that he's been in love with the blond git for some years now. Leave it to Malfoy to remain stubbornly pessimistic about everything. 

If someone had told Ron ten years ago that he'd end up married to one Pansy Parkinson and having a conversation with Draco Malfoy about his supposed unrequited love for the Chosen One, he'd no doubt laugh himself into a coma.

The lift opens, but they both don't move to step inside. They simply stand in front of it in complete silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It's not until the lift's door starts to close that Ron jolts back to the present, reaching out an arm to catch the metal gates before they completely shut.

Throwing Draco a glance, he claps him on the back, pushing him into the creaky lift. "Come on, Ferret, there's a pint waiting at the Leaky with my name on it."

Draco rolls his eyes, but gives Ron a small smile, grateful for the abrupt change in subject.

 

 

  
**~o~**

 

 

  
Harry bursts into the restroom, looking around wildly before he sags in obvious relief when he finds it blissfully empty. Breathless, he slams the door shut and leans heavily against it, chest heaving.

"Fuck..." he lets out a strangled huff, hand drifting down to stroke his aching cock through his denims.

With unsteady fingers, Harry fumbles with his belt, zip, and buttons, uncaring that he's in a public space where anyone could walk in at any given time. It takes him a beat too long, but he finally manages. He shoves his hands inside his pants with a low, frustrated growl and pulls out his leaking cock. He's never been as hard as he is in that moment. He's barely even touched himself and he can already feel his bollocks drawing up, tight against the base of his throbbing erection.

Harry shudders, biting his lip as images of Draco licking, sucking, swallowing, _fucking_ the lolly into his delectable mouth floods his mind. He already knows it won't take much. He's too far gone. Murmuring a hasty spell, conjured oil coats Harry’s hand. His skin prickles, arousal surging through his veins like liquid fire as he wraps his fingers around his prick. With a ragged groan, his eyes drift shut, head falling back against the door. And he can't help but pretend that it's Draco's warm mouth enveloping him, Draco's sinuous tongue dragging his foreskin down and back up again, rubbing the pulsing vein on the underside of his dick. Harry starts to rock his hips, fucking into his fist, slowly at first then swiftly gaining a rough momentum as he pictures Draco with molten, silver eyes and swollen lips, Harry's cock plunging in and out of the hot, wet depths of his perfect mouth, _so deep_ that it hits the back of his throat. And Draco — beautiful, maddening Draco — doesn't even gag as he swallows Harry all the way to the root; his slender throat squeezing like a scorching vice around Harry's prick. And—

_Ohfuckohfuckohfuck..._

Harry comes so suddenly and so hard that he nearly blacks out from the force of it. He couldn't even utter a sound; his mouth hanging open in a silent scream, eyes clenched so tight that tears leak from beneath his lashes. He sags against the door, blissfully sated even as guilt and shame wash over him. He can't even begin to imagine how Draco would react if he were to find out what Harry had just done.

"Shit." Harry's voice cracks as he stares at his spunk spattered on the tiled floor.

Inhaling a shuddering breath, Harry casts a few, quick Cleaning Charms and rights his clothing. He walks unsteadily towards the sink and stares at himself in the mirror. He huffs out a breath, running a shaky hand through his tousled hair. 

Draco can't ever know. Their friendship was a hard-won battle. Getting to where they are now had been a difficult journey and Harry won't be the one to jeopardise it. Draco is simply too important, _too precious_ , to risk losing.

 

 

 

**~o~**

 

 

 

"HARRY!!!" 

Draco jolts at Seamus' sudden, thundering cry. He turns towards the door and easily spots Harry walking towards their table with that dimpled, crooked grin on his stupidly gorgeous face.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd drowned in the lavatory." Draco drawls, pushing a pint towards Harry as the latter slides into the empty seat next to him.

"Wouldn't you just love that?" Harry snorts, taking a long swig of his drink, throat bobbing as he swallows, and Draco has to fight the burning urge to lean in and lick a wide stripe up his corded neck.

Averting his gaze, Draco props his chin in his hand and takes a small sip of his firewhisky, "Where’s the joy in that? If you were to croak, Potter, I'd have nobody to torment."

"I know for a fact you’ll miss me.” Harry points out; his grin turning mischievous. “It’s okay, oh _Dragon of Bad Faith_ , you can say it.” Harry laughs when Draco scowls. Still chortling to himself, Harry takes another swig of his pint, playfully nudging his shoulder against Draco’s before he wanders off to mingle.

Draco sighs softly, watching Harry saunter over to their friends. They've been coming here for close to eight years now. The first few times had been horrible — tension running high, hostility just simmering below the surface. It had taken them years to finally fall into this beautiful, seamless tapestry of varying personalities and backgrounds. Draco had never thought it possible, but he's glad to have been proven wrong. Gryffindors and Slytherins. He spots Luna's bright, blonde head and grins. And a Ravenclaw. They've come so far from how they'd been at school.

Draco chuckles under his breath when he catches sight of Ron dancing awkwardly with Pansy. The lanky ginger may as well have two left feet, but still, he sways with his wife, eyes aglow with so much tenderness as he gazes at her that Draco feels like he's intruding in their moment even from afar. He looks away and sees another Gryffindor and Slytherin pair — Hermione and Theo. Draco shakes his head in amusement as he watches Hermione take out her notes, nearly knocking her full glass of wine over when she shoves the parchments under her husband's nose. Hands flailing, she starts to rattle on about whatever she's been working on in the bowels of the Ministry. It's a bloody good job Theo's remembered to throw up a quick _Muffliato_ before Hermione went off like a fucking train going off its rails. Both are Unspeakables and too much of a swot for their own good. They're so uncannily similar to one another and yet are oddly perfect together. They’ve certainly turned the phrase _‘opposites attract’_ on its head.

A burst of rowdy laughter brings Draco's attention towards the bar, where he finds Seamus and Dean doing body shots on one another amidst cheers and wolf-whistles from Luna, Neville, and Harry. The only one missing is Ginny. Her schedule as a professional Quidditch player isn’t exactly very flexible.

Dean and Seamus have been together for ten years now and looking at them, Draco can't help but feel a twinge of longing for what they have. Homosexuality isn't strange among Wizardkind, but it is still frowned upon among Purebloods because of the need to produce an heir. Not that Draco cares much about Pureblood beliefs these days. He's put all that bigoted nonsense behind him. But he hates disappointing his mother and he knows she’s still hoping that one day, Draco would find himself a Pureblood bride, settle down, and pop out little, blond Malfoys to continue their magical bloodline, even when she already knows that Draco is unrepentantly and blatantly bent. He’d left the closet ages ago, much to the obvious delight of the Daily Prophet. _A gay Death Eater_. Imagine that.

Draco sighs again, knocking back the rest of his drink. He feels a solid warmth sidle up to him and he can’t help but roll his eyes when a familiar whiff of expensive cologne assaults his nose.

"You look positively defeated, Draco." Blaise, ever the incorrigible flirt, breathes against the shell of his ear.

Draco slants him a bland look, setting his empty tumbler onto their table. He and Blaise have an odd friendship. They fuck on occasion, when the itch to get off grips them both, and they simply can't be arsed to go out and make the effort to pull. Blaise is an attractive man, Draco won't deny that, but every time Blaise's cock splits him open, leaving him panting at the pleasurable burn of being stretched and filled, he can't help but fervently whimper Harry's name, wishing with every fiber of his being that it’s a certain messy-haired, green-eyed Gryffindor pounding his arse loose. Blaise doesn't give a shit. Like Pansy, he's known for long time how Draco feels for Harry James Potter. Draco knows his friends, _the louts_ , firmly believe that Draco has had feelings for Harry as far back as Hogwarts. Draco will never admit it, but he certainly can't deny it either.

"Blaise." Draco nods, accepting the fresh glass of firewhisky that Blaise hands him.

"How's your little project going?" Blaise drawls; his dark eyes sliding towards where Harry stands by the bar. "Any progress?"

Draco shrugs, turning to glance at Harry. The other man is deep in conversation with Neville and completely oblivious to the looks he's been getting from the other patrons of the pub. Despite the intervening years, Harry's fame has never quite diminished and Draco thinks it never will.

Harry had shrugged off his Auror robes, leaving it hanging haphazardly on the back of a chair. He pushes his flattering, wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, ignoring the strands of dark curls that have escaped the messy knot tied at the base of his skull. Dressed in a plain white, cotton shirt, stretched tight over his toned chest and broad shoulders, ripped jeans, hanging low and snug on his narrow hips, and a ratty pair of converse trainers, Harry is the very picture of casual ease and effortless sensuality. The infuriating git doesn't even have to _try_. Despite appearing like he’d just rolled out of bed and pulled on whatever clothes he’d picked up off the floor, Harry makes the whole look work. He's certainly living up to his reputation as Witch Weekly's Sexiest Wizard Alive, _six years running._

Draco huffs out an exasperated breath and gives Blaise a tight smile.

"I see." Blaise muses, taking a sip of his Elfwine. "You're losing your touch, Draco. Everyone knows Harry wants to get into your pants. Why the shocking lack of success?"

Draco stares into tumbler, sight unseeing. "You bloody well know why."

Blaise hums, lifting a hand to run long, slender fingers through the fine hair at Draco's nape. He leans in; his hot breath ghosting against Draco's cheek. "Well, don't look now, but I don’t think Potter appreciates me taking liberties with your person."

Draco arches an eyebrow in obvious disbelief. Harry may be physically attracted to him, but never once had the Gryffindor ever shown any interest in Draco's sex life or love life.

"Oh Salazar, if he could shoot hexes from his eyeballs, I'd already be dead a hundred times over." Blaise chuckles under his breath, a wickedly gleeful lilt in his voice. He presses closer against Draco's side; his arm winding around Draco's slender waist. "Does he know that we fuck, Draco?"

"Of course he does. It's no secret." Draco rolls his eyes, taking a long pull of his drink. He wants to turn, to look in Harry's direction, but Blaise's vice-like grip stops him.

"Draco." The sudden seriousness in Blaise's tone surprises him. He looks up and is stunned by the intensity in his friend's eyes.

"Perhaps, Harry just needs a little push." Blaise says softly, glancing over Draco's shoulder towards the bar, and Draco doesn't miss the calculating gleam in his eyes. "And I'd be more than happy to oblige." Blaise's smile is slow and deliberate, dangerous. Draco recognises it instantly. He leans away, frowning.

“Blaise—" Draco starts, but is cut off by the sudden press of Blaise's lips against his own. He's stunned, frozen solid, even as Blaise pulls him flush against his chest. 

"Come now, Draco. If you want results, you'd best make this look good." Blaise murmurs against his mouth; his hands wandering down to cup and squeeze Draco's arse.

Before Draco could even react and push Blaise away, the shrill sound of shattering glass rattles throughout the Leaky. The air is vibrating; the very foundations of the pub seem to shift and roll beneath their feet. If he didn’t know any better, Draco would think it’s an earthquake. However, he knows for a fact that there’s one wizard powerful enough to have such a dramatic effect on his surroundings when he loses control of his temper and magic.

Draco shoves Blaise aside and turns abruptly; his eyes falling on Harry, who's standing by the bar, staring blankly at the mess by his feet where the remains of a shattered pint lay broken. 

 

 

 

**~o~**

 

 

 

"Harry—" Neville says nervously. He'd seen the glass explode in Harry's hand. He grabs Harry's wrist, panicked by the profuse bleeding. Large shards of glass lay embedded in the flesh of Harry's palm, deep enough that Neville is shocked Harry hadn't lost his entire right hand.

The bottles of liquor behind the bar are still shaking; the shot glasses on the counter had all burst, one after another. Inhaling sharply, Harry closes his eyes, summoning his Occlumency Shields. After years as an Auror, he's become quite proficient at it. Snape would've been grudgingly proud. The effect is instantaneous. The heavy blanket of crackling magic quickly recedes. The air stills and deathly silence fills the pub. It's only when Hermione jumps to her feet and Ron sprints across the room that the whole place descends into a nervous sort of clamor.

"S'okay, mate." Harry murmurs, face an impassive mask. Without so much as a grimace, he starts to yank out the pieces of glass buried in his palm.

"Oh my god, Harry, what happened?" Hermione whispers in a rush when she gets to him, Ron at her heels.

"Bloody hell." Ron winces at the sight of the mangled flesh of Harry's hand. "You're going to need a Healer for that, mate. Don't reckon _Episkey_ would be enough."

Luna arrives with a clean tea towel, gently pressing it into Harry's palm. She quietly searches his face; her eyes so warm and soft that Harry can feel his bones ache. He's pathetic. He knows this, but he certainly doesn't want to see that belief reinforced by the pitying looks in any of his friends’ faces. He's under no impression that his closest friends have remained ignorant of his feelings for Draco. He's never been good at keeping his emotions in check, always wearing his fucking heart on his sleeve.

"Nothing to worry about, lads!" Seamus yells over the din, beaming a wide, reassuring, if slightly drunk smile at the other patrons. "Just a minor accident. The night's still young! Let's have a round on me and Dean here!"

Inebriated cheers follow Seamus' announcement. Dean winks at Harry and swans over to the bar to place their orders, and Harry feels a surge of fierce affection for his friends. _Except Draco_. Draco can go fuck right off, straight to hell. And he can bring Blaise with him. Fucking wanker. _FUCK_.

"Potter!"

_Speak of the devil and he shall appear._

Harry grits his teeth, pressing himself against the bar, squeezed between Ron and Hermione, with Luna and Neville in front of him. Pansy and Theo push their way through the crowd, and Harry gives them both a strained smile, resolutely ignoring Draco and Blaise, who had also just arrived.

"Salazar's balls, Pots." Pansy gasps, eyes growing wide when she sees the state his hand is in. Now that the blood has been cleaned off, it's clear to see that a rather sizable shard of glass had pierced right through his palm, leaving a gaping whole.

Harry just shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his face averted. He can feel Draco's stare like a fucking brand on his skin. It itches, burning straight through him. He hears Draco's infuriated huff and suddenly the blond is front of him, having easily maneuvered Neville out of the way. And before Harry can say anything, Luna passes Draco a fresh towel and steps aside, leaving Harry with no buffer against the blond.

More blood starts to seep out of the wound, but Harry hardly registers it. He can only feel bitter anger bubbling in his chest. Resentment worms it’s way through his veins, flaying his insides like the shards of broken glass embedded in his skin. His magic’s response is instant. It simmers just underneath his skin, seeping through his pores, and Harry is just barely holding on to the frayed ends of his self control. He barely has any to begin with.

Draco grabs his wrist and is about to put pressure onto his hand, murmuring something about _idiotic Gryffindors_ , but Harry finally decides he's had enough. If he has to look at the self-satisfied smirk on Zabini’s face or stay in Draco's immediate vicinity for even a second longer, he knows he'll lose it. He doubts Kingsley would appreciate it very much if he decimates half of Diagon Alley.

Harry wrenches his hand away from Draco as though he'd been burned. He grips his hand tightly close, feeling the warm trickle of blood slide between his fingers. He lets the pain ground him as he plasters a grin on his face. He looks at everyone but Draco. "Ron's right. I'd better get my sorry arse to Mungo's."

"Potter." Draco starts to say, but Harry just gives him a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm fine, _Malfoy_." These past three years, even though Draco still called him Potter from time to time, not once has Harry ever called him Malfoy. Tonight would be the first, if the stunned looks on their friends' faces are anything to go by.

"Harry—" Draco tries again, voice achingly soft, but Harry just shoulders past him, throwing them all a jaunty wave.

And before anyone could even process what had just happened, Harry disappears into the Friday night crowd and out into the cold, London evening.

 

 

 

**~o~**

 

 

 

"You're an absolute fucking moron, Draco Lucius Malfoy." Pansy hisses, face incandescent in her fury. She spins on her heels and skewers Blaise with a venomous glare. "And you—!"

Blaise just raises his hands in mock-surrender, a small, smug smile playing on his lips.

"What happened?" Hermione asks; voice sounding high and thin in her anxiety.

Theo pulls her close, rubbing soothing circles against the small of her back; his eyes shifting from Draco, to Blaise, then finally to Pansy. He sighs, shaking his head. He didn't need to be told to know what had happened. He knows his friends well enough. 

"Was that really fucking necessary?" Pansy all but growls when Draco remains silent.

"Can someone please just tell us what bloody happened?" Ron plops down onto a bar stool, exasperation writ clear on his face. He notices Harry's forgotten Auror uniform and grabs it, folding it carefully over his arm.

"Blaise kissed Draco and groped his bum." Luna says serenely, head cocked to the side as though she’s talking about the sodding weather. "You were hoping to make Harry jealous.” She says it so bluntly that Draco can’t help but flinch. Luna hums and reaches out to touch his arm when he flushes a bright, angry red.

Ron sputters in alarm and Hermione turns deathly pale.

"Why do you make things so difficult for yourself, Draco? I like games; they’re fun and all, but things can be so much simpler." Luna murmurs, laying her head against Draco's arm. "I haven't seen Harry lose control like that in such a long time. It certainly takes me back." She looks up at the ceiling, a thoughtful expression on her face. “The only time I’ve seen Harry react so violently was after he’d lost someone precious to him. He’d been in terrible pain.” Nobody misses the vague but pointed reference to Sirius’ death. Luna levels Draco a searching look that leaves him feeling utterly exposed. “You must’ve hurt him deeply.”

Draco presses his lips together, shaking his head, wanting to argue that Harry has absolutely no reason to feel hurt by his asinine actions.

"Stop!" Pansy snarls, jabbing a sharp, menacing finger at Draco's nose. "Just because you don't want to see it, does not mean we are all blind to it!"

"No more games, Draco. It’s clearly not working out in your favor." Theo murmurs, pressing a reassuring kiss onto his wife's hair.

Hermione looks thunderous. Despite the sheen of tears in her eyes, her gaze is icy as she glares at Draco. "You will lose your chance with Harry, if you don't fix this. Why you still choose to turn a blind eye to his feelings when it's so clear for all to see, is beyond me. If I didn't know any better, I'd even say that you do it simply because you love tormenting him, hurting him; that you take vicious glee in watching Harry squirm as you play your little games."

Draco reels back as though he'd been slapped. His eyes grow impossibly wide as his mouth drops open. Surely, they don't think that badly of him. After all these years, they must know that he's not that person anymore. He can’t very well tell them that the reason his entire being simply refuses to believe that Harry Potter may be in love with him is because he thinks — _he knows_ — he’s undeserving of it. How can Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, ever hold such feelings for Draco Malfoy, redeemed Death Eater or not?

Draco looks from Hermione to Ron, but the other man just gives him a cold, hard stare; jaw clenched impossibly tight.

"It was never my intention to hurt him. I would never..." Draco whispers, swallowing thickly; his eyes darting over his friends' faces in a panic. _In for Knut, in for Galleon_. Draco bites his lip, inhaling sharply and blurts out, "I lo—"

"It was my fault." Blaise suddenly drawls, cutting him off, sounding anything but contrite. He takes a sip of his wine, leaning languidly against the bar. "I thought Potter needed a little push."

"Blaise..." Draco growls darkly, closing his eyes, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Please kindly fuck off before I rearrange your face. _Permanently_."

Blaise purses his lips, studying Draco intently, hesitating. When Draco continues to ignore him, Blaise shrugs and saunters off without another word.

Its a beat later that Draco manages to calm his thundering heart. He opens his eyes and finally says what he’s always wanted to shout over the rooftops of London, “I love him.”

And really, Draco has to wonder when he’d become such a sappy Gryffindor. Or a _Hufflepuff_. Salazar help him.

Hermione's face softens and Ron sags against his chair, sighing in abject relief. 

Luna gives him a chaste kiss on the cheek and Theo just shakes his head in mild exasperation.

Neville claps him on the back as Pansy rolls her eyes, throwing her hands in the air, muttering, "Fucking finally!"

None of his friends look remotely surprised by his declaration. Mortified, Draco stares at them all, wondering if he’s been as painfully obvious as he’s beginning to suspect. His only consolation is the fact that Harry Potter is as oblivious as a piece of plywood. He doubts the git has any clue about how Draco truly feels for him.

"Well then, what are you waiting for, mate?" Seamus slurs loudly, jostling Draco, spilling quite a bit of his lager onto the floor. "Go get ‘im!"

Dean just laughs, beaming fondly at his sozzled boyfriend. Draco doesn't even know when the two had joined them. Seamus and Dean always seem to just pop out of nowhere. It's a bit unnerving, if Draco's being completely honest.

"Knowing Harry, he won't go to St. Mungo's." Hermione smiles ruefully.

"No, he won't." Draco snorts softly as he turns around to leave.

"Malfoy," Ron calls out. Draco turns, raising an eyebrow, and Ron grins sharply; his eyes boring into Draco. "Hurt him again and I'll sic Ginny on you."

And Draco can’t help but shudder. Everyone chuckles, trying and failing to hide their ill-concealed mirth. They all know how terrified Draco is of Ginny Weasley and her Bat-Bogey Hex. Cackling blithely, Pansy, the horrid cow, smacks her husband's arm, but Ron just pulls her into a hug, never breaking eye contact with Draco.

"We both will." Hermione adds with a giggle, but her laughter is belied by the fierce glint in her eyes.

Draco huffs helplessly, "Duly noted."

 

 

 

**~o~**

 

 

 

Harry _Apparates_ into his living room, stumbling as he lands. He leaves the lights off as he sinks wearily onto his couch, basking in the soft light of the fireplace as it envelopes the room in its warm glow. Grimacing when his mangled hand throbs, he stares at the sizable cut, releasing a breath. Despite the fact that he can see right through his hand, he doesn't even flinch. He's had worse injuries. The perils of being an Auror and all that rot.

He needs a fucking drink. Pushing himself off the sofa, Harry makes his way towards his liquor cabinet. He fumbles with a bottle of firewhisky, swearing under his breath when his injured hand refuses to cooperate. Finally losing his patience, he spins around and violently hurls his empty tumbler across the room, taking vicious pleasure when the glass shatters against the wall with a resounding crash.

"FUCK!" He roars, voice breaking; the guttural sound echoing in the stillness of his empty house. He drops down onto the nearest armchair, dropping his head into his hands, uncaring of the blood.

He won't think about Draco. He can't. He feels like he's being eviscerated from throat to groin every time he recalls the image of Zabini's hands and mouth all over Draco. Harry squeezes his injured hand, letting the searing pain of it drown out the hollow ache in his chest. He sits, unmoving. He doesn't even know how long he stays there, just listening to himself breathe.

It's not until Harry hears the Floo flare to life that he belatedly realises that he'd forgotten to  block the connection. He doesn't react, expecting his visitor to either be Ron or Hermione. But when he hears the telltale stride of confident footsteps, Harry freezes. He doesn't need to look up to know who it is that had suddenly dropped in unannounced.

"Harry."

The uncertainty in Draco's voice drains the fight out of Harry. He drops his hands, slumping back against the cushion, lifting his eyes towards Draco.

"It's late, Malfoy." Harry whispers hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"

Draco takes a tentative step towards him, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, back stiff and shoulders tense. He glances around the dimly lit space as though he could find the answers he seeks in Harry's cosy living room. As Draco stalls for time, Harry himself is wondering what he could possibly say to explain his sudden outburst at the Leaky. Draco is a smart man. Harry won't be too surprised if Draco's already sussed out that Harry's bout of accidental magic is a direct result of him and Zabini sucking each other's faces.

"You didn't go to St. Mungo's."

"No."

"Harry—"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry grits out. He's just too damn tired, too damn drained. Heartsick and heartbroken. He can't face Draco right now. He wants to curl up somewhere and disappear for a few days, just until he puts the pieces of himself back together.

"What happened back there?” Draco’s voice is quiet. He sounds almost afraid to speak too loudly. “What brought all that on?”

And there it is.

Harry stares at Draco’s slender silhouette. He wonders if this is the exact moment when he’d lose this man’s friendship. It was bound to happen, Harry figures. No point in prolonging the inevitable. Harry leans his head back, closing his eyes, and dives in head first like he’s wont to do.

“Because I hate it when Zabini touches you. Because it hurts knowing that I can’t. Because I can’t help wishing that I could.”

The words are spoken so softly that Harry isn't sure he even said it out loud. He remains unmoving, waiting for the sound of the Floo that would signal Draco’s departure from his flat and his life. He’s already wondering how he can possibly coax Robards into reassigning them different partners. He knows Draco would want that done as soon as possible.

The sudden warmth of gentle hands coming to rest on his knees makes Harry jump. He sits up, eyes snapping open, and he's stunned to see Draco kneeling right in front of him. Harry didn't even hear him move. Draco's always been better at Stealth and Tracking.

Harry swallows thickly, eyes glued on Draco's face. Everything is shrouded in shadows. Harry can barely see him. "What?"

Draco draws his wand and flicks it towards the ceiling. Low light instantly floods the space, causing Harry to squint at the sudden brightness. Draco takes Harry's injured hand, quickly casting a Healing Spell with practiced ease. When you've been partnered with Harry James Potter, _injury-prone disaster magnet_ , for as long as Draco has, you can't help but become a veritable expert in Healing Charms. Draco reckons he could even give an experienced Healer at St. Mungo's a run for his Galleons.

"Oblivious idiot." Draco murmurs, casting Cleaning and Disinfecting Charms on Harry's hand.

Harry frowns, pulling his hand away, but Draco holds fast. He looks up, eyes gleaming like mercury, and Harry loses himself in their iridescent depths. Harry watches, transfixed, as Draco gently caresses his mended palm.

“What are you—?”

“You _can_ touch me, Harry.” Draco closes his eyes. “However you like. I’ve always hoped — _wished_ — you would.”

Harry inhales sharply, too stunned to react to Draco’s sudden honesty. It takes him a moment too long to form a coherent thought and Draco has already started to move away, uncertainty swimming in his turbulent, grey eyes.

Harry quickly grabs Draco’s wrist and holds him in place. With his other hand, he gently lifts Draco’s chin, turning the latter’s head towards him. He runs the pad of his thumb along Draco’s lower lip, in a bid to erase Zabini’s touch.

“You've a funny way of showing it.” Harry whispers gruffly.

"Slytherin." Draco shrugs, a rueful smile dancing on his lips. He sounds helpless, but still so audaciously haughty. It's as though that single word is more than adequate to explain himself and oddly enough, it is.

Harry blinks and lets out a startled laugh.

"What did you think I was doing with that crude excuse for a candy, Potter?" Draco rolls his eyes, inching closer as he settles more comfortably between Harry's legs, hands moving languidly up Harry’s toned thighs. "You know very well I’d never eat anything so plebeian." He casts Harry a smoldering look from beneath his lashes and _Merciful Mother of Merlin_ , that loaded glance shoots straight to Harry’s prick. “But needs must.”

Draco doesn't miss the way Harry’s muscles jump underneath his fingertips, or the sudden rasp in the latter’s breathing. The blond smiles, slow and sultry, and everything about him just oozes sex.

“You mean—” Harry licks his lips, shuddering when Draco’s hands drift ever closer to his groin. “You did that on purpose?”

“Oh, Potter.” Draco breathes, eyes blown so wide with lust that only a faint ring of silver could be seen. He bites his lip when his fingers finally ghost over the burgeoning erection straining against Harry’s jeans. Of course, the infuriating git would be blessed with an impressive cock. That’s just the way the universe works, it would seem. “I’ve only been trying to seduce you for the better part of five bloody years, but your obliviousness simply knows no bounds. How are you even an Auror?”

Harry rolls his hips, pressing urgently against Draco’s clever hands as he strokes Harry’s thick length through the cumbersome denims. It’s everything Harry’s ever hoped for, but it’s also not nearly enough. He’s wearing far too many clothes. They both are. He watches through hooded eyes as Draco pushes up the hem of his shirt. The blond looks up, a question in his burning gaze. Harry can only manage a groan, low and rough, but that seems to be answer enough for Draco. The blond keeps his eyes locked onto Harry, full lips quirking into a decidedly filthy smirk as he leans down and presses hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses on Harry’s exposed abdomen; his wicked tongue licking a fiery path down the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of Harry's jeans. 

As Draco's deft fingers work on undoing his belt and buttons, Harry squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed by both visual and tactile stimulation. If he watches Draco anymore, he'd no doubt just come in his pants like some randy teenager. Although he wants to just lose himself in the white-hot flare of pleasure singing through his veins, there’s still something he needs to be certain of.

Harry reaches out, burying his fingers in Draco's hair and with a sharp tug, pulls Draco's face away from his crotch, where the blond had started to eagerly mouth his leaking cock through the damp fabric of his Y-fronts. Draco lets out a startled moan, but Harry valiantly ignores it.

Draco's face is flushed, lips parted on a gasp as he stares up at Harry with wide, unfocused eyes.

And Harry is hit by the sudden realisation that Draco Malfoy likes a bit of _pain_ with his pleasure. Harry tightens his hold on Draco's pale, blond locks and revels in the full-body shiver that vibrates through Draco's lithe frame. _Merlin_ , this maddening prat will definitely be the death of him. It takes every scrap of self-control Harry possesses not to throw Draco onto the floor and just thoroughly ravage him.    

"You know me, Draco." Harry rasps out between ragged breaths, viridescent eyes blazing as he pins Draco with a piercing stare. "Despite what the Daily Prophet would like everyone to believe, I don't do one-offs. If you expect me to just be another casual fuck—"

But Harry never finishes what he has to say because Draco has shoved his hand down Harry's pants and wrapped his aching cock with long, slender fingers. Harry trails off on strangled groan; hips bucking involuntarily.

"You're an even bigger imbecile than I gave you credit for if you think this is merely a one-off for me, Potter." Draco says huskily, giving Harry's pants and jeans an impatient yank. Harry cottons on quickly and lifts his hips, sighing in relief when his prick pops free. "I don't share well. I never have."

Draco's breath is warm against Harry's cock. He looks up, eyes dark and unfathomable through the thick fringe of his dark-blond lashes. He mouths the tip, tongue darting out to probe the salty slit, drawing a breathless _fucking hell_ from Harry. Draco's breathing turns shallow. He wets his lips, savoring the taste of Harry's pre-cum. He keeps their gazes locked as he licks a wide stripe up the underside of Harry's cock, tongue delving inside the foreskin. Harry arches up, panting, seeking more, but the blond seems intent on teasing him.

"Draco—" Harry huffs; his thumb gently stroking Draco's jaw. 

Behind the cloud of lust _, s_ omething flares in Draco's eyes; something fiercely vulnerable and so open that it takes Harry's breath away. And without breaking eye contact, Draco parts his lips and swallows Harry down to the root.

Harry cries out, lost in the warm, wet heat that suddenly engulfs him. Scrabbling for purchase, he buries his fingers into Draco's hair. His head falls with a thud against the back of the armchair, eyes clenched shut. His hips twitch, muscles straining as he fights the blinding urge to thrust up and bury himself further down Draco's throat. Draco starts to bob his head, tongue swirling languidly, and the delicious friction is nearly Harry's undoing. Chest heaving, Harry pries his eyes open and is met by Draco's unwavering gaze. 

 _Merlin fucking help him,_ but those eyes — quicksilver and burning with so many unspoken things — are searing right into his soul and stripping him bare.

Between panting breaths and stuttered gasps, a loud, broken groan is wrenched from Harry's own throat and Draco, the beautiful bastard, still manages a smirk despite his mouthful of cock. Harry is shaking. He's so bloody close. He's desperate for release, aching with the need to fuck deep into Draco's mouth. Draco, drunk on the heady scent of Harry's arousal, moans low in his throat. The vibration sends a shock of electricity zinging through Harry's veins, making his hips jerk sharply. It startles a choked gasp from Draco, but he doesn't pull away. He hollows out his cheeks, hands squeezing Harry's thighs, finally urging him to move.

Gasping, Harry tangles his fingers on Draco's hair, holding his head steady. With a needy whimper, Draco relaxes his jaw and Harry starts to thrusts, driving his cock deep into Draco's throat, over and over again. Harry's mouth drops open; the litany of filth and endearments falling from his lips is like music to Draco's ears.

It doesn't take long. Harry can already feel his balls drawing up, painfully tight, as pleasure coils in his gut like a taut spring. He throws his head back, a garbled sound escaping him as his rhythm starts to falter. Draco's breaths are coming in short and shallow, shuddering as he shoves his hand inside his pants and fists his neglected prick. He cups Harry's bollocks, sucking hard, swallowing around Harry’s thick girth. The constricting vice squeezes around Harry, wrenching his orgasm out of him. With a breathless shout, Harry comes, back arched, pulsing thickly down Draco's throat. 

Like a slag, Draco greedily swallows, moaning raggedly as his own release is torn from him. Harry slumps bonelessly in his chair, dazed, watching the rivulets of cum leaking out of Draco's mouth, dribbling down his chin. His lips are swollen, eyes wet and glazed over, skin flushed a delicious pink as he laps at Harry's spent cock, cleaning him off. Draco looks utterly wrecked and so fucking beautiful that Harry aches at the sight of him.

"C'mere," Harry mumbles, tugging on Draco's arm.

The blond looks up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He grins, looking so smug and pleased with himself. Harry can't help but laugh. Draco rises unsteadily to his feet, climbing onto the armchair and straddling Harry's lap. Harry reaches up, gently cradling the back of Draco's head, pulling him down for deep, desperate kiss. As much as he’s wanted Draco’s mouth on his cock, Harry has longed to kiss him even more. Harry sighs when their lips finally touch, tongues tangling when he licks into Draco's eager mouth. He can distinctly taste himself on Draco's tongue and he's never found anything more erotic.

_Mine._

Asharp jolt of possessiveness flares inside Harry’s chest. He pulls back, staring up at Draco, who has a bemused smile on his face; his fingertips tracing Harry's cheekbone.

"I don't share well either," Harry murmurs. "You're mine."

Draco blinks at him then a beaming grin splits his face, and _bloody hell_ he looks so radiant and so fucking happy that Harry is momentarily blinded by him.

Draco leans down, pressing a chaste kiss onto Harry's lips, whispering, "I can live with that."

 

 

**_~ f i n ~_ **


End file.
